


Concealer

by niceasspavus



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-18 09:43:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8157691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niceasspavus/pseuds/niceasspavus
Summary: Chen gets a new makeup artist. It’s you.





	

You’ve worked on beautiful people your whole life. You’ve done politicians, anchors. You’ve done actors, models, musicians. You’re the face behind the faces. You’ve been called a savant, a prodigy, a maestro. You’ll never forget when Ms. Kang called you a genius in front of the rest of the class. As if you weren’t already hated enough for your boldness. But you find it hard to care what the others think of you. Your talent, and your taste, got you where you are today. You’ve earned this. This is your calling.

Today is your first day at the new job. The SM rep points to the desk you’ll share with two of the other girls. You’re shown the makeup van in the parking lot. The mirrors are framed with photographs of the crew and their friends, photographs of the crew and idols, signed photographs of idols of their own. “화이팅!!!” is written across the top of one mirror in lipstick. There are photographs missing, presumably reclaimed by the makeup artist whose position you’re filling. She got married. Moved to China. You make a note in your planner to send her congratulations. Your morning is spent settling in, familiarizing yourself with the building, meeting people, signing documents with HR. In the afternoon, you get to meet the canvas. 

He doesn’t introduce himself as Chen, but as Kim Jongdae. He looks familiar, of course; you’ve seen him in music videos and on talk shows and on screens in the subway. He looks older than he is until he laughs. A sunny child, quick to smile. His demeanor inspires you. Every client is unique. It’s your job to preserve, and enhance, their personality through your art. 

Kim Jongdae’s voice is low and pleasant. His face is very expressive, and you make a mental note of what products you’ll need to accommodate that. His eyes are well-shaped and thick-lashed. His cheekbones, high and defined. A square jaw. Overall, an interesting face, and one you think will be fun to work with. You spend the rest of the day sketching him and coming up with looks to discuss with the rest of the team next week.

This weekend will be one of the last opportunities you have to really relax for some time. Your schedule will have you working unusual hours. Photoshoot, performance, photoshoot, fan event, performance, performance, promo, press event, performance, performance. When they go on tour, you’ll go on tour with them. It’s a tumultuous job, but it’s one you signed up for. You know how to pack light. And really, your kit is all you need.

On Monday you find that you’ll need to adjust to the noise of your new workspace. Kim Jongdae is chatty, gregarious. He dutifully stills when you tilt his head by the chin, but you suppose having someone to talk to in a new work environment is a welcome change. Today, he learns where you grew up. On Tuesday, you tell him about your childhood dog, who’s buried beneath the forsythia shrub in your parents’ garden. On Wednesday, he tells you about when he tricked his brother into eating Leviticus 1:1 through 7:38 because he told him it would give him supernatural powers. You have to reapply his makeup because tears of laughter have it streaming down his face. “I can still hear the pages crumpling in his teeth,” he chokes.

On Thursday you don’t work on him, but they call you in to do Byun Baekhyun’s makeup for one of their “visual radio” gigs. You meet Kim Ryeowook, too. He says you remind him of a girl he used to date. “You never called me back,” you retort lamely, but Baekhyun’s so amused by your joke that his beanie falls off his head.

On Friday you’re shut in an office with the concept artists. The other makeup girls invite you for drinks afterward. Contractually, they’re not allowed to talk about the members outside of work, but one of them gets drunk and howls that she’s going to quit because Oh Sehun is making her ruin too many pairs of panties. You try tequila for the first time.

“Did you have a good weekend?” Kim Jongdae asks on Monday.

“I tried tequila for the first time,” you tell him.

“Did you like it? I’m not allowed to have it anymore,” he laughs.

He’s fidgety and always smiling, or singing, or both, and it frustrates you even as it endears you. His singing voice is soothing, and sweet, and heartening. The first day you hear him backstage, you’re awestruck. You’ve heard their songs before, but nothing compares to his live vocals. He performs with a passion that marks his voice from the others. His voice always hits your ears like honey. What a talent. You never knew. You say as much to him when you’re touching up his face and hair between songs. He grins and clasps your arm and thanks you warmly before he has to return to the stage. His adrenaline-tinged, masculine scent lingers in the air behind him. 

You’ve never worked with someone like him before. Everything he does is utterly sincere, and that’s unexpected of a celebrity. He seems incapable of duplicity except when a laugh is the reward. He gives all of himself in each of his actions, onstage and otherwise. An unusual person. But he makes you feel welcome, and you like him.

You start to look forward to your chats with Jongdae at the makeup table. You admit that you love snow (he wrinkles his nose and laughs). He tells you that he misses Luhan (you tilt your head sympathetically). You talk about college, and he talks about how he got into the music industry. You both want to travel. Neither of you have tried turkish delight. Jongdae can sing the alphabet backwards. You can do cartwheels.

The longer you look at his features, the more beautiful they become. His forehead, usually concealed by his fringe, is broad and pretty. His straight, chunky brows are charming. His cheekbones are so gorgeous and defined that you almost don’t need to contour them. His nose is straight and sweet. His skin is clear and luminous but for the mole near his left ear. His eyes are deep and warm, his lashes so thick and lush. His mouth. His darling, kitten mouth. When you step back to survey the whole picture, you’re stunned.

“Whoa.”

“What?”

“I did a good job.”

“Ahh? Am I handsome?”

“Tch. Don’t be cocky.” He sticks his tongue out at you.

You remember June 7th because it’s the first day he calls you noona. You accidentally tickle his neck with your powder brush. He flinches and laughs and whines: “Noonaaaaaa.” You can’t help but squeeze his shoulder fondly and tease him further with your brush. One of the other girls glances sidelong at you.

“Careful,” she says to you, not unkindly, when you pass in the hall later that day. You’re not sure what you’ve done wrong.

Kim Jongdae makes you laugh harder than anyone you’ve ever met. Sometimes you have to make him shut up because your hands are quivering with so much mirth that you can’t even do your job. “Stop smiling,” you chide through your cackling, “you’re supposed to look dark and dangerous.” He’s grinning from ear to ear, his face is decorated with fake cuts and bruises. “Come on. Smolder.”

Jongdae smolders. You swallow.

You start taking polaroids together before he goes on stage. “So I can look back on my work and improve,” you say by way of excuse the first time it happens, but you both make silly faces too regularly for the pretext to hold water. You tape up the pictures in the empty spaces on the makeup van mirror.

You’re becoming attached to Kim Jongdae, but you convince yourself it’s beneficial to have a relationship with your principal client. You can personalize his makeup in a way no other living person can because you know him and understand him and admire him. You stop concealing the little mole by his ear because it gratifies you to see it in the monitor when he’s performing. _I did that_ , you think. _Everyone can see it because of me_. He can show off his arms and abs and chest on stage but it’s that little mole that makes him seem bare to you.

You’re starting to understand. _Be careful._

He invites you to his birthday party. There are maybe thirty people, and you feel out of place, but everyone treats you with warmth. Kim Minseok, who you’ve gotten to know over the last couple of months, kindly hangs around you the whole time and introduces you to the people you don’t know. The birthday boy’s attention is almost always claimed, so you don’t get much of an opportunity to talk to him aside from when you hand him his gift, which you’ve concealed in a dinosaur-printed bag. He pulls out a bottle of tequila with a note tied daintily to the neck with twine.

“ _Shh, don’t tell_ ,” he reads aloud. He wiggles with pleasure and crows with laughter and hugs you tight. “You’re going to get me into trouble, noona.”

More photos go up on the mirror.

One afternoon he and Minseok take you for coffee in the atrium. Minseok gets a call and apologetically leaves before you order. You and Jongdae sit across from each other. You fiddle with the sleeve on your cup. “It feels strange to talk to you without doing your makeup,” you admit. “My hands feel too still.” You know his face better than anyone, so you notice the shy lift of his mouth, the quiet aversion of his eyes, the gentle blush that touches his cheeks. Your heart starts racing and you don’t want to admit why.

You see him infrequently during the following couple of months. Before you know it, it’s December, and the members are preparing happily for an unheard-of two weeks off. Baekhyun, with whom you’ve barely spoken, hugs you before leaving.

You don’t get a chance to wish Jongdae a good Christmas in person, but on your last day before the holidays you find a potted poinsettia on your desk with a tag reading “Merry Christmas noona~ :3” in his boyish hand. He drew snowflakes in every available space. You did tell him you liked snow.

You see him again at the company’s lunar new year party. He says your name exuberantly when he turns at the touch to his elbow and wraps you warmly in his arms. He’s standing with Minseok and Junmyeon, and the three of them are jaw-dropping in their well-fitted suits. Minseok tells you how pretty you look in your dress. Junmyeon delicately lifts your hand and presses a kiss to it. Jongdae whines and hits him. Everyone is giddy with drink and laughter. You feel blessed with your life and your heart is full with hope for the year to follow.

You return gladly to the routine of your job, though the routine feels different. Your lips part of their own accord when you’re working on his, now. You unconsciously lean in when you dab tint to his smile. His mouth captivates you. The corners of his lips are so precious, the curves impossibly charming. You want to ornament him with lipstick. Red. Bold. You want to wipe it from his lips and apply it all over again. Your fingers are reverent, careful, no longer methodic, automatic. Your work has always been creative for you, an art, a means of expressing yourself. Now it is the way you tell Kim Jongdae that you’ve fallen for him.

He’s a little foolish, of course, but he’s not daft, and he notices. His posture is stiffer, his words quieter. You don’t want to make him uncomfortable. You wonder if you should quit, remembering your coworker and her drunken confession about Sehun’s effect on her undergarments. But the thought is fleeting, and insincere. As if you could part yourself from him now. The way he looks you in the eyes when you’re working on him makes you weak. 

You’re about to call your taxi home when you get a call from your landlord. Jongdae finds you sitting on the curb with your face in your hands.

“There was a fire in my building.”

“Ah! No!”

You wave your hand restlessly. “My place is okay, but apparently I can’t go back until Tuesday.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’ll find a hotel. I guess I have to buy clothes and stuff for the next couple days, though. Aish, my poor savings account.”

“You can stay at my apartment.”

You choke. “What?”

“Not together,” he says hurriedly, flushing. “Unless. I mean. I don’t use it a lot. I can take you there and I’ll go to the dorms. Uh. If. If that is something. Uhhh. You would be okay with.”

“That sounds…” Risky. Ill-advised. Bad. Very bad. “...great. Thank you.”

He’s taken aback. “Oh. No problem.” He flourishes his car keys. “Ready?”

“You drove here? Alone?”

“Yeah. Is that weird?”

“I just can’t believe you’re old enough to drive.”

“Noo _naaa_.”

His car has black-tinted windows but is otherwise nondescript, perhaps moreso because you’re used to seeing Kim Jonghyun’s Lambo in the parking lot. You scramble into the passenger seat. There’s bad pop music playing in the car. You open your mouth to tease him about it, but your nerves suddenly won’t allow words to come out. 

The apartment is small, dimly lit, but nice. Jongdae kicks his shoes off and takes your coat. “Ah. Do you want something to eat? I think I have. Well. Nothing. I can order something for you though.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “Sorry. I’m not used to hosting.”

“Why do you even have this place?” you ask him, following him to the living room. Your voice sounds weird. “Groupies?”

He sputters anxiously. “Wah, no! Almost everyone has their own place now. We’re getting older. We can’t live like schoolboys our whole lives.”

You pass him a small smile before the air grows heavy with silence. Your arm is getting sore from carrying your kit, so you set it on the floor.

He looks at the kit, then at you. His voice is very soft. “Will you do my makeup, noona?”

“What? Wh-”

He takes your wrist gently, meeting your eyes with a sincerity that stills your protests, and your thoughts, altogether. “Please do my makeup, noona.”

You know this to be a confession, an entreaty, a turning point. And you nod. 

He perches timidly on the sofa and you perch timidly on the coffee table in front of him. You set your kit beside you. You unlatch it. You push his bangs back and you do as he asks with as much care and attention as you ever have. 

It’s minimal, makeup only highlighting what beauty he already possesses. Except for his lips. For his lips, you have plans. You mix pigment on the back of your hand. The result is an exquisite dark wine. You paint him with it.

He’s gorgeous.

“Do you have a mirror?” you ask him quietly, face inches from his. 

He nods and stands and leads you to his dark bedroom, and to the full-length mirror next to his dresser, but he doesn’t look at himself. He looks at you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“Why?” you whisper back.

“I am a very greedy person.”

He’s closing what little space lies between you. He’s taking you in his arms. He’s kissing you, slow, strong, wet, first your lips, then your jaw, then your neck. In the mirror beyond his shoulder, you see yourself with his lipstick smeared across your mouth and you tremble. 

His palms trace the curve of your hips with deference, but god, your crotch is already throbbing for this man, and you breathlessly slide your hands under his shirt, marvelling at just how fucking fantastic his body feels. He’s so warm, soft, solid. You pull the shirt away eagerly and he chuckles low in your ear.

“Enthusiastic noona,” he rumbles. Your panties have soaked through.

His shoulders, his chest are incredible. You fondle all of him with your fingers while he collects the courage to unbutton your blouse. By the time you’re down to your undershirt, you’ve already got his belt unbuckled and his zipper undone. His breath hitches when your palms find his bare ass. The rest of his clothes are in a bundle at his feet within the next fifteen seconds.

You push him onto the bed and straddle his hips, your damp undergarments rutting against his swelling cock. It’s been a while for you. The last sex you’ve had was with your ex-girlfriend from college, and that was. Oh god. Literal years ago. But Jongdae is looking up to you to guide him, and you won’t hesitate to do so.

He purrs when you lift your undershirt away and unclasp your bra. He bites his lip when your skirt and panties follow. He’s pulling you closer to get handfuls of you, leaving prints in your skin and marks on your neck as he resumes his eager kisses. But you need more and you need it now.

His feeling of his cock sliding into you is so, so fucking satisfying. Jongdae bucks beneath you and you stroke his hair comfortingly before you begin to rock ever-so-slightly against him. Breath spills out of him and you grin, because shit, he’s so sweet and sexy and he feels so good inside you. You rock deeper, you take him further, you squeeze around him joyously and he moans and gasps and swears. He shifts back against the headboard so that your bodies can brush deliciously together every time you thrust. You press your stained lips against his hair. The smell of him, so concentrated and intimate and wonderful, makes your pelvis ache with pleasure.

God, he’s stunning, the light of the city spilling through the unshuttered windows and exaggerating the planes of his cheekbones, throwing the shadows of his own lashes across his skin. You kiss every familiar feature, returning again and again to his perfect, darkened lips, which move urgently against your own.

He calls your name as you fuck him to completion.

***

You wake up alone. Disoriented. You’re naked. It’s cold. You’re in Kim Jongdae’s apartment.

You find a note on his fridge when you hurry to his kitchen, wrapped in his blanket: “early radio spot sorry!! see you later today~” You pull it off and crumple it in your hand, eager to destroy any trace of the previous night. You’ve slept with a client, and your client is one of the most popular idols in the country. This could be the end of your career. Everything you’ve worked for your whole life. Gone. What if someone saw you arriving? What if someone sees you leaving in the same clothes? There’s undoubtedly security footage. 

You pee in his toilet. You rinse off in his shower. You type a resignation letter on your phone, you encrypt it, and you lock it away like a detonation code. You walk into work wearing an outfit you bought at the overpriced boutique next to his building. It’s stiff and itchy.

A bare-faced Kim Jongdae smiles widely at you from the makeup chair. “I’m so happy to see you,” he says. You begin by concealing the mole by his ear.

**Author's Note:**

> I give in and smile at you  
> All I do is look at you (I look at you)  
> Because when the morning comes,  
> you’ll wake up as if nothing happened  
> \- EXO, She’s Dreaming


End file.
